The Story of the Golden Twins
by Undomiel5
Summary: The Story of the Golden Twins relates the journeys and adventures of Glorfindel the Balrog Slayer and Gloredhel, his twin sister, from their return to Middle Earth in S.A. 1200 after their deaths at Gondolin until they journey into the West many long years later. Complete For Now.
1. Third Age 2247

T.A. 2247

Spring

Rivendell

Gloredhel heard the quiet chatter of the watching elves as she continued her practice fight with Aranuir, an up and coming elf under her brother's command. She was used to distractions as she fought, however, and didn't let their talk distract from her task of training. Her brother usually attended to these training sessions, but Glorfindel was away from the valley for several days, so Gloredhel, always happy to help our her twin, had agreed to continue them in his absence.

The two elves circled each other warily, though Aranuir was more wary than she, for Gloredhel was one of the most skilled elves in Rivendell. Each wore leather jerkins and over them a coat of chainmail for extra protection. Their swords were blunted, but accidents could happen, and even blunted swords could still cause serious harm.

Gloredhel was reminded of this about half way through the fight. She had just gotten through his guard and gave Aranuir a slight tap on the waist with the flat of her blade. She then took a step, waiting for him to regroup and attack again. She would fight defensively this time, and he offensively. They switched back and forth each time one scored a hit to give extra practice in both kinds of fighting.

Aranuir lunged toward her, aiming for her right side. She parried the blow, catching his blade on the hilt of her own sword then pushing his blade up and away. The fight moved quickly. Even as Gloredhel leapt backwards to give herself more room to maneuver, Aranuir was already moving forward to attack again. Gloredhel landed cleanly several feet back with knees bent and immediately brought her sword up into a guard position in front of her body. The younger elf feinted towards her right, but even as Gloredhel brought her sword up to parry this blow, he moved to strike her opposite leg. Gloredhel moved to block this blow all the while taking a step back.

The next few seconds seemed to Aranuir to take place to horribly slow motion. Gloredhel had responded to his feint as he thought she would. This was practice. She wasn't playing to win outright, or she wouldn't have fought as she did. Gloredhel had easily parried the blow, while he moved in for his real strike. The lady had moved to block the new attack and had gone to take a large step back. Then it all went wrong.

Gloredhel stumbled as she moved backwards. Her foot caught on she knew not what, and she could feel herself start to fall even as she desperately tried to block Aranuir's upwards strike. He tried valiantly to recall his blow, but Aranuir had already fully committed to the blow, and its momentum couldn't be stopped. His sword, moving up and away from him, slashed across her upper leg, marring the chainmail but doing little damage, before slicing through the chainmail and into her side.

For a moment she felt nothing as the sword pierced her chainmail and cut into her side. Then after a moment a biting, fiery pain set in and began to claw its way through her side. Blood began to trickle down the blade first slowly then faster, and her own sword fell from her suddenly nerveless fingers. Almost as soon as the sword had pierced her it was withdrawn, its master bearing a look of horror on his face. Gloredhel fell to one side, extending a hand to break her fall. A cry broke from her lips as she landed, the fall causing her side to hurt even worse.

Aranuir stumbled backwards several steps. His face was horrified. He was stunned, his face deathly pale. "My lady, I . . ." He couldn't finish.

The watching elves were momentarily stunned at this turn of events, but they started to move forward as the shock of the moment was broken.

"Gloredhel!" This shout came from a little farther back. Two dark hair elves, identical in face and form, dashed forward as they saw their mentor fall. Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Lord Elrond, pushed through the crowd and hurried to Gloredhel's side. Still in shock Aranuir was still standing a few paces back.

Elladan dropped to his knees. Gloredhel had rolled onto her back and lay still, one hand pressing down on her wound. "Lay still," he said, "let me see!" There was a small pool of blood already beneath her. With the strength of an elf behind the blow, the blunted sword had cut deeply.

Slowly Gloredhel moved her hand. More blood flowed from the wound as the pressure was removed. Elladan pulled the damaged chainmail enough away so that he could see the wound. Broken chainmail links had torn the skin at the very top of the wound, but inside the cut was clean but deep. Elladan moved Gloredhel's hand away and used one of his own to put firm pressure on the wound. She flinched but didn't cry out. It was painful, but she had faced much worse long ago.

Elladan turned to his twin who had knelt beside him. "Go get Father." He said.

Elrohir hurried off at a run toward the house to find their father, and Elladan turned back to Gloredhel, as a few of the older elves in the group led Aranuir away for the present. She lay still without complaint though the lines of pain across her brow bore testimony to the pain she felt.

"Father will be here soon, Gloredhel, and we'll get you patched up." Elladan kept his voice light. The wound was deep but not serious for an elf. He still hated to see his teacher and mentor in pain.

"Ironic . . . I survive Fornost only to . . . be injured in an accident." Her voice was halting and punctuated by several coughs.

Elladan grew concerned when she started to cough. The sword couldn't have hit her lung, could it? The wound wasn't that deep.

"The boy's strong." Gloredhel said after a few moments. "I think he broke a rib with that stroke."

Elladan nodded and patted her shoulder with his free hand. It amused him sometimes how she called so many elves young, though Aranuir was in truth young by Elven standards. Gloredhel was older than his father by about two thousand years and had lived before the rising of the Sun and Moon. When one was that old, most everything else seemed young.

Within another few minutes, Elrohir returned with his father. Taking the place of his eldest son, Lord Elrond knelt beside Gloredhel. "What happened?" He asked.

"Sparing accident," Elladan, who had moved around to Gloredhel's other side, replied, "she stumbled, and Aranuir didn't have to time to stay his blade."

Elrond spared a quick glance around the training field before returning his attention to his patient and the matter at hand. "Where is the boy?"

"Gildor and several others led him away. He was quiet upset." Elrohir replied. He stood far enough back to be out of the way but close enough to help if needed.

Elrond finished his examination within a minute. "Your wound will need to be stitched, lady, and your ribs bound. You have not one but two broken ribs." She nodded and pressed down on her side when he removed his hand.

Lord Elrond slipped one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees and lifted her as gently as he could. A groan partially stifled slipped from her lips. "I'm sorry, Gloredhel, but it cannot be helped. I'll get you something for the pain as soon as we reaching the Healing Wing."

With Elladan and Elrohir opening the doors ahead, the party moved swiftly through the halls of the Last Homely Home, and Elrond soon laid his lieutenant down upon one of the tables. With one arm behind her back to help her sit upright, Elrond and one of his assistants, a grey-haired lass, begin to remove her chainmail and leather jerkin. The twins, no longer needed, slipped away, while Elrond's other present assistant begin to gather the needed materials.

"You, lady," Elrond said, undoing the ties of her chainmail, "have a surprising capacity to get hurt while your brother is away."

". . . Arnoediad, the Siege . . ." She replied through gritted teeth, "how could I forget." Her eyes lit with a twinkle for a moment, and she continued for a moment, "Perhaps, my lord, you should start sending us out together again, instead of apart."

As soon as the two elves had divested Gloredhel of her coat of mail and her leather jerkin, they eased her down. Elrond took a goblet his other assistant extended and pressed it to Gloredhel's lips. "Drink. It will help the pain."

Within a few minutes the lines of pain on her face started to smooth, and she started to relax. Taking this as his clue, Elrond started to stitch up her wound.


	2. Third Age 3015

T.A. 3015

Late Winter

Bree-land

A brisk wind blew upon a frozen and snowy landscape, turning the air a misty, confusing white with the snow it kicked up. The land here was uninhabited save by those few travelers. If one could see through the snowy mist, lines of hills would be seen far away to the north and some distance to the east. A few stars could be seen now and then through the clouds and snow, enough to guide a traveler on his way, if he could survive the freezing cold. But for two travelers upon the North-South Road this night, the deep snow was proving more troublesome than the bitter cold.

Upon first glance at the two figures they seemed unremarkable. They were both tall and were dressed in clothes of dark grey with cloaks of a lighter grey. Two horses, one as white as the snow and the other a dappled grey, struggled behind them through the snow.

But upon a close glance the two figures were much more remarkable. Though their horses were almost floundering in the deep snow, the two were not; instead they walked _upon_ the snow, leaving nigh a footprint behind. Both figures also seemed to glow with an inward light like the stars above.

One of the two lagged a little behind; the grey horse was smaller and had more trouble makings its way through the snow. The grey horse suddenly came to a deep patch of snow and stumbled and fell to its knees. The figure leading it was pulled off balance and stumbled as well. Some yards ahead the other figure turned back, seeming to know of his companion's need of aid.

The figure in the rear climbed up and began brushing itself off. With a sign of exasperation that was carried off by the wind, the figure pushed backs its hood and pushed aside for a moment the thick scarf that had covered its face. The face this act revealed was a woman's, more beautiful than most mortals, for few could rival the beauty of the immortal elves. Her eyes were a stormy blue-grey and held the weight of long years. The whipping wind caught her hair and blew it into a golden cloud that surrounded her face and revealed her pointed ears. This was Gloredhel of the House of Elrond.

The figure in front, who had turned back, also pushed back his hood. He wore no scarf, and his face bore several deep scratches from the blowing snow and ice. His hair was golden, and his eyes too were blue. The faces of the two elves were very similar, for they were twins. This was Glorfindel the Balrog-Slayer, once of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin, now of the House of Elrond and Seneschal of Rivendell.

Gloredhel started to help her horse out of deep hole but paused for a moment when she saw her brother had turned back. There was no point in shouting, for even the keen hearing of the elves would struggle to hear anything over the howling wind. For a moment the wind abated, and the air grew clearer. She waved a hand at her twin, urging him on. She would catch up. He raised a hand in acknowledgment and turned away to his original path.

After a few minutes of work, Gloredhel had packed down the snow enough to help her stallion out of the hole. With a steady hand and a firm grip on the reigns she led him onward. Bree was their destination, still some miles down the road. It was not visible through the storm, but she knew it was there: elves didn't get lost.

Gloredhel was glad of her cloak as she pulled the hood back over her head and retucked her scarf around her face. She didn't feel the cold like a man would, but she could still appreciate its warmth. She wondered how many hours they had left to travel. She was not tired, but she feared for the horses in the cold. They had been traveling for hours and hours it seemed to her with no rest for the horses.

Several more hours passed. The two elves continued their lonely trudge down the North-South Rode. Eventually the wind began to die, and the blowing snow abated enough for the elves at least to be able to see more of what lay ahead. A small dark mass lay ahead of them, still some miles away, and here and there a twinkle of some faint light could be seen. The two elves looked at each other and smiled. Bree lay ahead of them. This part of their journey would in another hour or so be complete.

It was actually nearly two hours by the time they passed through the West Gate of Bree. The buildings on either side of the road blocked what little wind remained, and the two elves pushed back their cloaks as they made their way toward The Prancing Pony, the main inn in Bree.

The Prancing Pony was currently owned by a man named Barliman Butterbur, a small, short man. At Glorfindel's knock, the front door of the inn was opened a crack, his face was seen through it illuminated by a small candle. The hour was growing very late, so the inn had been locked up for the night, but seeing the two travelers standing out in the cold, Mr. Butterbur hurriedly unlatched the door while calling for a person named 'Bob'.

"Come in," he said, "come in out of the cold. Leave your horses. The ostler is coming to take of them."

The twins happily complied. They did not suffer from the cold, but they still found the weather extremely unpleasant. Glorfindel thanked the innkeeper, while Gloredhel looked around. The hour was late, but a handful of men still remained in the common-room of the inn along with two or three hobbits. These looked up at the new arrivals but soon returned to their own business.

"Let me have your cloak, sir, and yours lady. I will take them to dry." Mr. Butterbur said, breaking into Gloredhel's assessment of their surroundings.

Gloredhel unfastened her cloak from around her shoulders and unwrapped her scarf also, handing both to the innkeeper. She studied him for a moment as she handed him her wraps. His face was paler than it had been when he appeared in the doorway of the inn. He knew there was something different about his two new guests, but so far he had not spoken of it. Gloredhel was glad of this. Neither elf wanted to draw undue attention.

Mr. Butterbur spoke again as he started to move away, "Go warm yourselves by the fires. I'll bring you something to eat and drink in a few minutes."

Both elves did so and were for a couple of minutes content to stand before the blazing fire. As they did so, Gloredhel looked around again. This time she caught sight of a sitting figure in a shadowed corner who she had overlooked earlier. He had a dark green cloak, tall boots, and a long pipe. Their eyes met: grey on blue. Recognizing the man, Gloredhel smiled and nudging her brother nodded towards the corner.

The man in the corner stood as the two elves approached. "Mae govannen," he said, greeting them in their own tongue.

"Mae govannen," the elves replied. The man retook his seat; Gloredhel sat down at the other seat at the table, while Glorfindel leaned against the wall beside his sister.

After a moment Glorfindel continued in the same elf tongue. "We did not expect to meet you here, Estel, but we are glad to see you none the less. What shall we call you while my sister and I are in Bree?"

Estel had pushed back the hood of cloak revealing his dark hair and grey eyes. "I am called Strider here, and I didn't except to meet you here either. Is all well in Rivendell?"

"All was well when we left it." This time Gloredhel spoke.

The three paused their conversation as the innkeeper approached bearing a tray with two steaming mugs and two bowls of stew. The twins began to eat, the two alternating who spoke and who ate.

Gloredhel began, "We have come south from Fornost. We had hoped to find the Rangers here, and our wish has been granted."

Strider's brow furrowed in confusion, "Why were you at Fornost?" He asked.

Gloredhel took a long drink from her mug, and her brother began to speak. "One of the Wandering Companies set out from Rivendell two months ago and had not returned, as of two weeks ago when we departed from that place. Elrond was concerned and sent us out to look for them. We followed the usual road for the Wandering Companies as far west as the Baranduin without sign of them."

Glorfindel stopped to eat, and Gloredhel took up the tale. "At the Baranduin we met Gildor Inglorion and his company. Gildor said that they had met our missing company the previous week and thought they had headed north toward Annuminas. We followed the Baranduin north until it began to curve west toward Annuminas."

"When we still hadn't found them, we turned east toward Fornost. We reached that city yesterday. When we still didn't find them, we turned south toward Bree, hoping to run across the Rangers, who we hoped could give use any news. We were caught in the most recent storm while we traversed the North-South Road."

"Interesting," Strider said taking a long drag on his pipe, "I have been in the north the last several weeks and only recently came to Bree. I saw no signs of your missing company. I am sorry that I could not give you better news, my old friends."

"That's alright, Strider. We hoped for news but would have been quite surprised if you did." Gloredhel said. "They could have well arrived in Rivendell while we have been away the way this journey is going."

"What will you do now?" Asked Strider. "Will you set out again on your search, or will you return to Rivendell?"

"I know not yet. My sister and I will discuss it tonight." Glorfindel replied. "Whichever course we take, we will wait until the weather improves somewhat. We will be much worse off if the horses die from the cold and we have to walk back to Rivendell."

"That would be _unpleasant_." Said Strider taking another draught from his pipe. After another moment he rose, "The hour grows late, and I must rest before departing on the morrow. I wish you well on your journey."

"And you on yours." The twins replied. "Farewell."

Strider departed for his room to rest, and the twins moved to sit in front of the fire. They did not need to sleep and would spend the rest of the night in discussing what best be done in their search.


	3. Third Age 3011

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. It all belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. All I own are a few original characters (e.g., Gloredhel) and the plots of the specific stories.

* * *

10/13/16 - This story has only been updated. It is not new.

* * *

T.A. 3011  
Early Spring  
Rivendell

Night had fallen hours ago, but the stars were obscured by a thick layer of clouds and by a misty rain that had been falling now for over a day. Thus, Gloredhel had difficultly judging the time as she rode across the bridge into Rivendell and brought her horse, a dappled-grey stallion, to a halt just in front of the stables. The stables were large and well-made and housed the horses for Master Elrond's family and most of those in his house. Seeing the lady ride up, a groom came out from under the edge of the stable and held her horse's bridle as she dismounted with shaky legs. Gloredhel was soaked through even with a heavy cloak on to try to keep off the chill and the rain.

"It is good to see you return, lady." The groom said. "Master Elrond expected you back hours ago."

"I met delays along the road." Gloredhel replied, stepping carefully through the puddles until she was under the edge of the barn and trying to wring some of the water from her dripping cloak. "What time is it?"

"Nearing midnight, I believe." The young elf replied.

"Do you know if Master Elrond is still up?" Lady Gloredhel asked.

"Yes, milady. Well, I think so, I saw a light shining from his study not long ago." The groom paused, studying her carefully, and was about to say something else but checked himself.

"Is my brother here?" Gloredhel asked now pushing back her cloak and wringing water out of her bedraggled and badly tangled braids.

"No, lady." The groom replied. "He left yesterday morning to go investigate a report of orcs near the Valley and has not returned yet."

"Very well," Gloredhel nodded, "Please put my horse away."

"Of course," he replied.

Gloredhel pulled her cloak back around her and dashed the length of the yard across the wet grass through the mud and puddles until she reached the steps of Elrond's House. She climbed these at a slightly slower pace not wanting to slip and fall on the stone steps and ducked inside the house. As she entered Erestor turned the corner into the front hall and came towards her.

"Gloredhel." He said. "You're back, at last."

"I am glad to return," The elf lady replied, "I thought I'd never get back. I feel like I have half-drowned in all this rain. This spring is turning into a very wet one."

Elrond's chief councilor replied looking her over carefully. "You look soaked, too. Are you alright, Gloredhel? You look a little pale."

"I have not eaten all day, and I'm soaked to the bone." Gloredhel replied carefully. There were some things she did not want to discuss even with Erestor because they were in the front hall of the House.

"I will go inform Master Elrond that you have returned. Go and try to dry yourself off. I'll have some food sent up to his study for you." Erestor finally said after scrutinizing her for a long moment.

"Thank you." Gloredhel replied.

She left Erestor standing in the main hall and made her way upstairs to the rooms that she shared with her twin brother Glorfindel. A servant had either already heard the news of return or had stoked the fire earlier expecting her return, and a fire was blazing brightly as she entered her own bedroom off the study the two siblings shared. She hung her cloak up to dry a safe distance from the fire and quickly changed into dry clothes. After struggling to tidy her soaked and tangled braids for several minutes, she finally gave up realizing that it would take her much longer to fix them than she had. In the end Gloredhel settled for just drying her long hair off, and then she made her way back downstairs to Elrond's study.

Elrond called for her to enter on her first knock at the door. The elf-lord rose as she entered.

"I'm glad to see you have returned." He said with a smile, showing her to a seat by the fire where food was waiting for her on a small table close at hand. "We grew worried when you did not return on time."

"Forgive me, Master Elrond." Gloredhel replied, taking her seat and extending her hands to the fire. "I meet multiple delays upon the road."

"Oh? Did you have any trouble besides the rain?" Elrond asked taking a seat across from her.

The old elf had noticed that her face was slightly paler than usual and that her hands were shaking slightly, but he waited for his trusted lieutenant to tell her story in her own time.

"Only one…" Gloredhel replied. "I met one of the Nazgul early this morning at the Last Bridge."

That fact along with the horrible weather and the lack of food explained everything to Elrond. Even to one like Gloredhel who could successfully oppose the Nazgul, meeting one was still an extremely horrible experience to say the least. He rose from his chair and went to his desk. He poured a glass of cordial and brought this to Gloredhel.

"What happened?" He asked after he had sat back down.

"It was raining heavily last night, and there was no good shelter near the road, so I did not even bother to stop and make camp. I just continued at a slow pace during the night and reached the Last Bridge a few hours before dawn. As I rounded the path and could see around the trees up toward the bridge, I saw one of the Nazgul sitting on a black stallion on the far side of the bridge. Drawing my sword I rode forward to drive him off. As I did, the Nazgul turned tail and fled down the river bank." She said, pausing now and then in her tail to appease her growling stomach or to take a drink of cordial.

"Is he still on this side of the river?" Elrond asked thoughtfully.

"No, not unless he crossed back over farther down the river after I left. I pursued him for several miles down the river bank and rove him across to the west bank of the river. He could have found a ford some miles down the river and crossed back to the east bank, but the Nazgul are not stupid. He would have waited awhile before trying to recross."

"There is nothing then that can be done for now. We will deal with the Nazgul later if the need arises." Elrond said at last. "At least you were not hurt."

"Thankfully. I can stand against them, but I despise being anywhere near them. Their screams haunt my steps and dreams." Gloredhel said with a shudder of disgust.

"The Nazgul are horrible and fearsome creatures." Elrond said. He paused for a moment and then changed the subject. "Were you able to find the twins?"

"Yes, with surprisingly little trouble." Gloredhel replied. "I had the best timing I think I have ever had when searching for them. I found the camp of the Rangers only a couple days after reaching that area. I arrived there only to find out that the twins were expected back that night. They were quite surprised to see me, though. I just told them that since we had not heard a word from them all winter it was about time someone came and made sure they had not gotten into more trouble than they could handle. I stayed with the Rangers for a few more days and then returned here."

Elrond leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "Well, you have had an interesting journey. I'm glad that everything turned out alright even with your meeting at the Last Bridge. You had best go and get some rest, Gloredhel. The hour grows very late."

Gloredhel nodded and with a bow exited the room and returned to her own quarters to rest.


	4. Second Age 1200

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. It all belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. All I own are a few original characters (e.g., Gloredhel) and the plots of the specific stories.

* * *

Gil-Galad's Palace, Lindon  
Fall  
S.A. 1200

With a sigh of utter frustration, Gloredhel crumpled up a piece of paper that she had been sketching on and tossed it behind her. On it had been half sketched in the face of a handsome male elf. Hearing the noise Glorfindel left his bedroom and entered the study where his sister was working.

"Having trouble, gwathel nín?" He asked, leaning down and grabbing several of the wadded up scraps of paper that lay scattered on the floor around her chair.

Gloredhel had set her pencil aside after the demise of her last failed sketch and folding her arms on the table had rested her head upon them, but she straightened back up when she heard her brother's words.

"Immense trouble, gwador," she replied, running a hand through her loose golden hair.

Glorfindel returned the wadded up paper to the table and carefully smoothed them out. All showed the same face in various stages of completion. "Ah, Orodreth." He said recognizing the elf's face, "You are on to the last picture, then?"

"Yes," she replied, motioning to the other end of the table.

Glorfindel went down to the other end of the long table that took up much of the twins' study. The three drawings there were drawn on the best paper the scribe of the court could provide. Two were finished; one was mostly completed save for the details of one face. All three were examples of some of his sister's finest work. All three were complete pictures: landscapes, full figures, and all.

The first one was labeled in his sister's neat handwriting: _Finwe and his children, Tirion, Y.T. 1400_. The picture showed a beautiful garden in full bloom. Glorfindel recognized it as the garden outside Finwe's House in Tirion. On it were drawn Finwe and each of his children in full court dress. At the bottom of the picture were small labels of the identity of each person. Glorfindel was always amazed what his sister could do with only a black pencil.

The second picture was labeled _Finarfin and his children, Tirion, Y.T. 1450_. On it was drawn Finarfin with all his children gathered around him. This time the background was the entrance hall of Finwe's House. Finarfin had just drawn back from embracing Angrod, who was turned face out of the picture so his face could be seen. Finrod, Aegnor, and Galadriel were drawn in the background.

The third unfinished picture was labeled _Angrod and Orodreth at the Mereth Aderthad, F.A. 21_. The Pools of Ivrin were seen in the background of the picture along with a number of unidentified elves. In the foreground were drawn Angrod with his arm around son walking along the shores of the Pools as they spoke together. However, the outline of Orodreth's face was uncompleted.

"Your work is as masterful as ever. As Maglor had a gift for music, you have a gift with that pencil."

Gloredhel smiled in pleasure at her brother's complement, a touch of red gracing her high cheekbones.

Glorfindel continued, "What seems to be the problem, then? Except for the details of Orodreth face, you are finished."

"Orodreth's face is the problem, Glorfindel." She said, getting up and putting another log on the fire. "I was farther away than you were when we saw them, and my angle was worse. I am having great difficulties getting the details of Orodreth's face just right."

"All your sketches look fine to me." Glorfindel replied, picking up and tilting one of the sketches toward the light of a nearby candle so he could examine it more closely.

"They are only fine. They are not good." Gloredhel said slowly with great emphasis on the _only fine_. "If the last drawing was for me, to be bound in my sketchbook, then it would suffice. But it is a gift, a gift for Cousin Gil-Galad, and they must be as perfect as I can make them."

"The king, I am sure, will be very pleased by your work. He would not expect you to be perfect."

" _I_ expect myself to be perfect." Gloredhel said, returning to her seat with a sigh. "What time is it?" She asked abruptly.

"Two hours until midnight." Glorfindel replied, slightly surprised at the leap in the conversation.

"I have seven more hours then." She said quietly to herself. After a moment she continued speaking, picking up her previous train of thought, "The king was so young when his grandfather died, only twenty. And only sixty when his father died. Many others of the family Gil-Galad would never have met." Her voice got quieter as she kept speaking. "I remember Adar and Naneth quiet well, but we were much older when they perished during the crossing of the Helcaraxe. I remember the family when there was peace, before all this suffering and death, before Formenos, before it all. Gil-Galad does not have that. He lost so much when he was young. All his life there has been battle and death. So much responsibility was placed on him when Turgon died. I wanted to share what I remembered, so that he might see the family in days of peace and so that he might see the ones he has never met. _That_ is why it must be perfect."

Glorfindel could see the tears glistening in his twin's eyes as she finished speaking. With a small smile at the tender heart his sister usually hid under layers of courtly behavior, he came back around the table, patted his sister's shoulder, and then took a seat one chair over but out of her way. "One more try, sister, and then I think you will be able to finish."

He closed his eyes and drew to mind the scene she was trying to draw in all the detail he could remember. Once he had done this, he pushed the picture through the bond to his sister and focused only on that picture so that it would remain in her mind as she worked. Glorfindel had been closer to Angrod and his son when that moment had occurred and had had a better angle to see their faces. Gloredhel smiled softly when her twin showed her the memory. "Yes," she said slowly, "I think that will work."

She took her pencil back up again and began to sketch upon one last piece of scratch paper. Slowly she worked and carefully until the face of Orodreth as he had been before he took up the kingship of Nargothrond was revealed. It was still some time before she put down her pencil and gazed at her practice sketch. Finally, she was pleased with her work.

"All I need to do his copy this sketch, and then I will be finished." She said. "Thank you for your help, gwador nín."

"I am pleased to be able to help," Glorfindel said, rising from his seat. "I think I will retire to rest now, unless you need more help."

"Go and rest!" Gloredhel replied, rising also and going to retrieve her mostly completed sketch. "I must finish this and take the picture down to Gil-Galad's study, and then I, too, will rest."

Glorfindel returned to his bedroom, as Gloredhel retook her seat. With painstaking precision she drew in the lines of the face of her fallen cousin until all was completed to her satisfaction. It was nearly midnight when she finished her work. Finally she rose from her chair. She went around the table, cupping her hand around the flame of each candle and carefully blowing them out. The light from the fireplace would be enough to guide her steps when she returned.

After gathering up her drawings so that her sketches would not get smudged, she slipped out of the suite of rooms that she shared with her brother. On silent feet she glided through the many, long halls of the palace of the High King of the Noldor. Finally she came to the rooms that Gil-Galad occupied. Gloredhel paused for a moment outside the door to his private study. All was quiet. Turning the nob, she opened the door silently and slipped in. The door from his study into his bedchamber was closed, and all was still quiet. Careful not to look at any private papers left out, Gloredhel left the drawings, Gil-Galad's begetting day present, on his desk for him to find when he rose. With this done she slipped out as silently as she had come and returned to her own chambers to rest.

All her troubles were more than recompensed when the king arrived at breakfast that morning. After exchanging the necessary pleasantries, he approached her and greeted her with a tight hug. In a voice tight husky with deep emotion, he spoke in a low voice, "Thank you, Gloredhel. Your gift means more to me than you can know."


	5. Second Age 3437

S.A. 3437  
Mordor

To Gloredhel it seemed that the day had gone on forever. It had been years now since the War of the Last Alliance had begun, and, even while his own dark tower was under siege, Sauron was still able to send out powerful sorties to attack the elves. That was what had happened late that morning. Gloredhel had started the fight near to the her cousin Gil-Galad, High King of the Noldor, but some hours later (she knew not exactly how long) she had been cut off from the main body of the army with a small group of elves. For many long hours they had fought together, shoulder to shoulder, trying to outlast the enemy, waiting and hoping that help would come from their comrades, but no one had either yet seen their plight or were not able to aid them, for no relief came. And so one after another, they were cut down by sword, arrow, or spear.

The hours of the afternoon had worn on, and now only three of the elves were left. Gloredhel and the other two elves stood shoulder to shoulder in a triangle shape with their backs to each other. Gloredhel knew that they had little time left. Even though the battle was drawing to a close, they had been pushed far enough from their own lines that she did not think help would come in time. The strength of all was fading, but still they fought on, unwilling to give in. Gloredhel suddenly heard a cry to her right and turning slightly saw a comrade fall. She took a step back and to her right, so that she could try to protect him with her own sword and shield. She knew in the end it would be hopeless, but she would not let a comrade down while she was still able to fight.

For a little while longer the last two elves continued the fight. Around them were piled the bodies of many orcs along with bodies of the elves that had already fallen. Suddenly she heard a victorious shout from the orcs, and she knew that she was now fought alone. A moment later she felt a sharp pain in her stomach and, looking down, saw an orc sword protruding from her abdomen. The sword was removed. She tried to stay upright, to keep fighting, but after tottering for a moment, she collapsed to the ground her shield falling with a clatter across her legs. Staring up into the darkening sky, Gloredhel pressed a hand to her stomach trying in vain to stop the flow of crimson blood from her wound; her other hand still clasped her sword in a death grip. For some reason, the orcs kept on moving, leaving her to die instead of finishing the kill.

It seemed to Gloredhel that her armor had become very weighty as she struggled for every breath. "Was I reborn only to die again?" She wondered. It was growing harder to breathe. Her thoughts were becoming muddled, and her eyes grew heavier. She could feel the darkness encroaching and consciousness leaving. She struggled in vain to keep fighting, but soon her eyes closed and consciousness fled.

Several more hours passed, and night continued to fall. The elves were victorious, and the orcs had been driven off the field, but at a heavy cost. Now parties of elves carefully picked their way across the battlefield. The bodies of orcs, as gruesome and horrifying in death as in life, lay in thick rows and in piles where they had fallen fighting. Scattered here and there among the orc bodies were the bodies of elves in their bright armor. The uninjured elves now searched for the bodies of the dead comrades to give them the honor of a decent burial and searched for their injured comrades to give what aid they could to try to prevent more elves from journeying to the Halls of Mandos that day.

There was one elf in particular that they were searching for. When the battle had ended, all the leading elves of the army had gathered around the king, but to the shock and grief of King Gil-Galad, both of the twins, the cousins and advisors of the king, were found to be missing. Glorfindel had soon turned up having been fighting with Anarion on the other side of the field, but no sign of Lady Gloredhel had yet been found, and it was greatly feared that she had perished in the fight.

Círdan the Shipwright led one of these parties. He held a lantern with one hand to aid the keen sight of the elves in the heavy darkness. Its golden flame illuminated a small area surrounding them with an eerie glow that flickered and danced in the cold wind. With the other hand he still carried a drawn sword in case they came upon any surviving orcs among the dead and dying. They moved slowly here and there stopping to check the body of a fallen elf for signs of life and making sure that those among the living were taken care of. Finally they came upon a larger than usual pile of bodies made up mainly of orcs. Clearly those elves who had died here had fought long and hard.

As he rounded the corner of the pile of orcs he caught sight of a face he knew well. An elf-lady lay stretched on the ground a few feet in front of him. Her eyes were closed, and her golden hair was stained with blood. A shield lay across her legs, and one still hand clasped a sword.

Fear grasped the heart of the elf-lord as he looked upon the unmoving form of his old friend. Círdan hurried forward and crouching beside her felt for a pulse. After a long heart stopping moment he felt a faint beat. By now the others of the search party had gathered around a little ways behind Círdan. All recognized who lay in front of them and waited silently to hear of her fate.

Finally, Círdan spoke, struggling to keep the relief out of his voice. "Bring a litter. She's still alive."

One of the elves ran off to bring help and a litter, while the other moved forward and knelt in front of the lady to hold the lamp so Círdan could try to find a wound after he had moved the shield away. The elf first folded his cloak and put it beneath Gloredhel's head and then picked up the lamp. It didn't take Círdan long to find the wound that had felled the elf lady. There was a hole in the armor across her stomach. Rolling her over carefully, they found another wound on her back. Círdan believed from the shape and position of the wound that she had been stabbed from behind by an orc sword. They rolled her gently back onto her back, and Círdan set to work to cut a bandage from his cloak which was all they had at hand.

When he had done this, he pressed the makeshift bandage to Gloredhel's wound. The sharp pain of this drew a pained cry from her lips and brought her back towards consciousness. Her eyelids fluttered and then opened fully. She looked around, trying to focus her eyes. The effects of a concussion and blood loss were taking their toll. For a moment she did not seem to recognize the two elves that were with her and tried to sit up.

Círdan with gentle pressure on her shoulder kept her still. "Gloredhel, you must stay still. You've been wounded."

Gloredhel turned her gaze to him and tried to focus. "Círdan . . . What happened? . . . Did we win? . . ." Her voice was weak and slightly slurred.

"Yes, we won," Círdan replied, "but don't try to speak, you are badly injured."

"It hurts . . . it hurts. . ." She gave another groan at the continued pressure Círdan kept on the wound.

"I know it does. Just keep still. We're bringing a litter, and then we'll get you back to camp." Círdan said quietly in a soothing voice.

Not thinking clearly, she tried to move again as another thought came to her mind. "My brother . . . Glorfindel . . . is he alright? . . ."

"He is fine." Círdan said soothingly. "But Gloredhel, you must keep still!"

Finally she subsided and lay still. Her head lolled to one side slightly as consciousness again started to flee. A few minutes later running footsteps were heard. And the returning elf came hurrying toward them carrying a litter along with another elf.

As gently as they could the four elves transferred the wounded Gloredhel from the hard, rocky ground to the litter and hurried with her toward the camp of the elves.


End file.
